


Get Lucky

by reptilianraven



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek Has a Few Very Bad Days, M/M, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 15:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2817584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reptilianraven/pseuds/reptilianraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh come on," Stiles scoffs. "You're exaggerating. Derek can't die from bad luck."</p><p>That’s when Stiles hears a crash from the next room. Then a snarl. Then a lot of cursing. He and Deaton look out into the hallway to see Derek trudging towards them. Derek has three scalpels embedded in his shoulder and a German Sheppard growling around where its jaw is firmly attached to Derek's leg. Stiles looks at him for any explanation but he just frowns deeply.</p><p>"I sneezed." Derek says as Deaton tries to pull the dog away from his leg.</p><p>-</p><p>The one where Stiles thinks Derek should get Nice Things so he gives him a magical rabbit's foot as a gift. Then of course Derek loses it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS to [downincalumshood](http://www.downincalumshood.tumblr.com/) (previously 5secondsofteenwolves)!!! you wanted something with 1) an outburst of emotion 2) a confession and 3)a happy ending. well this is what happened heh. 
> 
> the lucky rabbit's foot thing is based off of the Supernatural episode, Bad Day at Black Rock. this is set vaguely post 3b with everybody still alive like one big happy family.
> 
> enjoy!!!

Stiles has got his head comfortably pillowed against Derek’s shoulder when he finally figures out what to get Derek for Christmas.

They’re all in Lydia’s lakehouse marathoning episodes of Game of Thrones. This wasn’t a pack meeting. This was just them being awesome and hanging out. Things have really calmed down from a supernatural perspective this past year. The fact that they’ve had less life or death pack meetings was a true testament to this fact. Regression to the mean, Scott says. Beacon Hills is probably compensating for the shitstorm that was sophomore year up to the Nogitsune. It’s evening itself out. 

The Nemeton is still alive and humming, but it’s definitely not attracting anything dangerous. The latest non-human encounter they had was a lovely, newly engaged vampire couple looking at real estate. The closest thing they’ve had to danger was when Parrish set his arm on fire at a barbeque and came out completely unscathed. 

Stiles and Scott have a bet going on about what Parrish could be. Scott is convinced he’s a phoenix of some sort. Stiles is sure he’s a dragon. Seriously. Stiles has seen Parrish’s desk at the station. That man is a hoarder. Lydia is looking at different bestiaries to try to figure it out.

(His dad is worried Parrish might be a Kanima. He’s never letting that go.)

Isaac and Allison are squeezed in the loveseat. Kira and Scott are wrapped in a blanket together at their feet. Malia is sitting on the couch with Stiles, Lydia, and Derek, her legs draped over Stiles and Lydia. And Stiles is using Derek as a pillow. He’s actually pretty huggable in the places that aren’t pure muscle.

He leans his head against Derek’s shoulder, since Derek is this awesome source of heat and never seems all that annoyed when Stiles gets physically clingy, when Stiles thinks, huh.

Derek’s life is sort of looking up.

Cora’s having a fun and calm life in Brazil. She Skype calls them a lot. She looks better, definitely not like she’s in constant mortal danger. Peter seems to just lurk around town. It’s creepy but at least he’s not stirring trouble. The best part though, is the fact that Derek has suffered a lot less bodily harm over this year. Blood stained shirts are a thing of the past. 

It’s awesome. Derek’s life is getting awesome in a slow, boring type of way. And he totally deserves it.

“You’re thinking too much about something,” Derek tells him. Stiles will never quite understand how he can sense when somebody is _thinking_. He’s pretty sure that thought doesn’t have a smell. “Stop it. It’s distracting.”

“Yeah, okay.” Stiles says and he resolves to think quieter, or, er, less aromatically, because this should never end.

Derek’s life being awesome should be a constant thing. Forever. Derek needs Nice Things. All of them. Especially now that it’s December a.k.a. the most wonderful time of the year.

Stiles thinks it’s time to call up that one witch who passed by a few weeks ago.

This is going to be _great_.

\---

Esther says not to mess with magic. She tells him that all magic comes with a price and that sometimes things don’t work out as you always want them to and blah blah blah. He gets enough of this song from Deaton and he doesn’t need to hear it again. Stiles is very much accustomed to the nasty bits of any supernatural force.

Thankfully, after Stiles manages to convince her that he is a responsible adult, she sends him to a website with some authentic, low-grade magic stuff.

“There isn’t any heavy duty magic in there.” Esther tells him on the phone. “Honestly, if Alan was right about you having some spark, you could pull some of the spells off yourself.”

“Cool, cool.” Stiles says as he scrolls through the message boards. “What do most of these spells do?”

“Most of them are just charms,” She says. “Good luck talismans. Protection spells. Just a lot of vague but positive magic energy.”

Positive magic energy is exactly what Derek needs. But as he clicks through links and reads through recipes and procedures, he thinks that they’re going to need a bit more. There’s a lot of stuff about herbs and certain flower arrangements that encourage positive energy but that’s not what he’s looking for. Sure, it might be quiet now, but when shit hits the fan again? This isn’t going to cut it. Stiles is not an optimist. When things get bad, and they will, things always get bad eventually, Stiles wants Derek to have as much good luck and protection he can possibly get.

After getting possessed by an evil trickster spirit, it’s hard to just settle for vague but positive magic energy.

So he digs around. Once he’s gotten himself a goal, he doesn’t half-ass it. He loses himself in links. He cross references everything with the bestiary to ensure authenticity. And then he finds something amazing.

A lucky rabbit’s foot. 

But no, this isn’t just _any_ regular, souvenir shop rabbit’s foot. This is a one hundred percent real, actual, bona fide, magical rabbit’s foot. It’s rare, only a few of them were made and exist up to this day. The foot was cut off at a cemetery (gross), under a full moon (ironic), on Friday the 13th (cliché), by some conjurer lady back in the day. The spell bound to the foot ensures insane good luck to whoever comes into physical contact with the item.

He checks the comments on the page he’s psyched to see that they’re all pretty much praising this thing like it came down from heaven. According to them, the good luck is immense and _constant_. Just what Stiles wanted to hear. People have won the lottery because of this thing. Gotten laid. Reached into their pockets to find their earphones untangled. Pretty much everything about the rabbit’s foot is optimistic, except for this one dude who commented in all caps rage “IT’S A MISTAKE. DON’T DO IT. DON’T DO IT. DON’T DO IT.” but Stiles ignores him. One weirdo in the midst of great reviews is probably just a blip in the radar.

Actually _getting_ the rabbit’s foot isn’t all that hard. He emails some people and he drops the name of Scott McCall, True Alpha of Beacon Hills and boom, people are bowing at his feet. He realizes that he’s sort of abusing Scott’s name, but hey, it isn’t Stiles’ fault that the entire supernatural community made a bunch of huge misconceptions. Everybody thinks that the McCall pack is this scary powerhouse and that Scott is even scarier since they were able to defeat a Kanima and the Alpha Pack and the Nogitsune. It’s reasonable to assume, but all Stiles can think about is a few days ago when Scott said “Guys check this out,” then threw a grape in the air to try to catch it in his mouth, only to get hit square in the eye. 

Whatever. Scott’s name is being used for a good cause.

A week later, a box comes in the mail. Stiles wraps it in this dumb gift wrapping paper printed with pictures of reindeers. He even ties it in a ribbon since he’s feeling _festive as hell_. Then he drives right over to Derek’s because Stiles figures that you should never delay nice things, and he knocks on Derek’s door.

“What’s happening,” Derek says when he opens the door. He’s wearing a tank top and sweatpants and his bedhead is adorable. Stiles wants to run his fingers through it. “Why’re you here?”

“Dude, did you just wake up?” Stiles asks.

“It’s a Saturday,” Derek grumbles. “I can sleep in.” And Stiles thinks, yeah. You can do whatever you want. Always.

“Okay, anyways.” He thrusts the box into Derek’s arms. “Merry Christmas. Or Happy Holidays. Whatever you want.”

Derek looks at him like he’s an alien. “It’s December 13, Stiles.”

“I know that,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “I just wanted to give you your gift now. Take it. Open it. Make sure it touches your skin.”

The alien look intensifies and Derek is holding the box as if it is a bomb. “What is it?”

“I’m not just going to tell you what it is,” Stiles says. “That’s not how gifts work. You have to open it.”

“No. It smells weird.” Derek wrinkles his nose.

“Weird? What kind of weird? Is it a sinister type of weird?” Stiles asks as he remembers the all caps commenter of doom.

“It’s not _bad_ , just really weird. Like energy. Magic.” Derek says and he narrows his eyes at Stiles. “I thought Deaton told you not to mess with magic, Stiles. What did you just do?”

“Nothing, I swear! Geez.” Stiles assures him. So what if Stiles decided to dabble in magic a little bit after the Nogitsune? He just wanted to have some control over something for once. It’s not like anybody got hurt. Stiles only just nearly drained his life force dry. But he didn’t do to _death_. No big deal. But you mess up once and people never let it go. Terrible.

“Whatever item you charmed, you need to destroy it.” Derek tells him as he tries to get Stiles to take the box.

“Oh my god, no. Just take it. Seriously. I’m not destroying it. If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t do any magic at all.” Stiles pushes the box back to Derek. “Really. There’s nothing bad going on here. I just found this cool magic charm online that’s supposed to give you good luck, okay?”

“Magic doesn’t work that way,” Derek tells him. “You can’t just get a free pass like that. All magic comes with a price.”

“It’s not like I’ve heard that a hundred times.” Stiles sighs. “I checked it. This thing is harmless and awesome. Can’t you just accept this nice thing from me?”

“I’m not just going to—Stiles! Get back here.”

“Nope. Not hearing it.” Stiles calls over his shoulder as he walks away. “Just accept the gift. I’m out.”

“Stiles.” And then there’s Derek’s hand on his shoulder, turning him around.

“I’m not taking the gift back dude, so just—”

“Thank you,” Derek says and whoa. Stiles has to run that by his brain a few times because Derek just thanked him. His ridiculous multi-colored eyes are earnest and staring right into Stiles’ soul.

“Yeah,” Stiles says stupidly. “Yeah, no problem. You’re welcome.”

This is going to be great. Derek’s life is gonna _rock_. This is the best Stiles has felt this whole year.

\---

But then two days later Derek crawls through his bedroom window covered in blood.

“Holy fucking _shit_!” Stiles yells in horror because he thought that they’d grown out of this. Deadly wounds are so last year. “Derek, oh my god. Are you okay? Nope. Stupid question. Of course you’re not. You’re bleeding in several areas.”

Derek just leans against the wall and slumps to the floor with a groan. Stiles has the time to think, _fuck, I’m going to have to clean up the blood stains_ , before he’s crouching down in front of Derek.

“Alright, reasonable questions.” Stiles says to himself more than to Derek. “First on the agenda, are you going to need medical help or will your healing take care of this.”

Stiles has to lean in real close to hear Derek mumble something that sounds like “M’good,” and that’s honestly good enough for now.

“Okay, great. Good. You’re totally not dying or anything.” Stiles doesn’t sound very assuring right now but he’s under duress, okay? “Second, what did this to you? Hunters? Rival werewolves? Gnomes? We haven’t had gnomes yet but—”

“Truck,” Derek coughs. Blood is on the floor. “I got hit by a truck.”

Stiles just looks at him in disbelief. He looks like he was mauled. “What, did the truck hit you thrice?”

“Four times. The truck hit me four times.” Derek says and he just sounds so fucking _done_ that Stiles knows that Derek can’t possibly be bullshitting him. This means he got hit by a truck. Four times. Holy shit. 

“I’m trying to figure out how that could even happen. Why didn’t you call? Did you crawl here?”

“Couldn’t call,” Derek tells him. “A pigeon stole my phone.”

“ _What?_ ”

“A pigeon literally swooped down, grabbed my phone, and flew away.” Derek looks him dead in the eye and his eyes are saying _I could not have made this up even if I tried_.

“Does a pigeon have enough strength to be able to fly while holding a phone?” Stiles asks before his brain catches up with the current pressing issues. “Oh my god, nope. Dumb question, yet again. Real question here is what the hell is going on with you? You’re seriously saying that a bird took your phone then you got hit by a truck four times?”

Derek just sighs like he’s had a generally stressful day. It’s a huge understatement.

“This isn’t supposed to be happening to you.” Stiles says. “If anything, your rabbit’s foot should’ve given you a lucky out from getting robbed by a bird and hit by a truck.”

And now Derek looks embarrassed for some reason. He is bleeding on Stiles’ bedroom floor looking _bashful_. Stiles would like to file an official complaint to the existence of Derek Hale. It just doesn’t make sense right now.

“The rabbit’s foot was great.” Derek tells him and Stiles takes note of the use of past tense. “That first day, I got a free sandwich at the deli downtown and a cat followed me home. I also won a bunch of raffle promos at the grocery store. But then, uh.” He mumbles something.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” Stiles leans in closer.

“I said I lost it.” Derek says. “I lost your gift.”

Derek goes on about not being able to smell its magic in the loft, so he knows he lost it somewhere in town, but Stiles sort of tunes him out. This is because something clicks in Stiles’ brain. 

Stiles thinks, shit. He thinks, fuck. He thinks, when you have the rabbit’s foot, the magic ensures you have good luck. But when you lose it?

“I think,” Stiles says very slowly. “I just made your life very bad.”

\---

He calls Deaton after Esther fails to pick up after the fifth call. The call goes to Deaton’s eternal automated ‘leave a message’ tone and Stiles says “So hey, I think I cursed Derek. Please be at the animal clinic.”

“That’s a terrible voice message,” Derek tells him right before he slips down the stairs. Stiles can’t help but wince. At least his dad is has a shift tonight. Stiles wouldn’t have any idea how to explain this to him if he were here.

Derek hits his head on the roof of the jeep when he gets in and Stiles just hopes really hard that they don’t crash on the way there. He only gets to breathe easily when he pulls up at the animal clinic, jeep still intact, and he’s happy to see that Derek has healed enough to not cough out blood every few minutes. Small victories. He’ll take them where he can get them.

“I can’t say I’m happy to see you.” Deaton says as he lets them in and Derek trips on his shoelaces.

“Same for you, doc. Same for you.” Stiles replies. “Anyways, down to business. Derek. Cursed. He needs a cure.”

“I’m going to go sit down.” Derek tells them as he walks into another room, presumably to go find a stool.

“What did you do?” Deaton gets straight to it.

“Such an accusation!” Stiles mock gasps. “I didn’t do anything.” Deaton looks at him like, _really?_. “Okay, so maybe I did a little bit of something. I may have procured a magical item online.”

Deaton’s face goes a little bit more zen now that he’s confirmed it’s Stiles’ fault. All is right in the world. “And what was this item?”

“A lucky rabbit’s foot,” Stiles says. “Totally the opposite of bad.”

“Derek lost it, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then, we might have a bit of a problem.” Deaton says and when Deaton says that, he really means that there is impending doom and destruction. Just what Stiles wanted for Christmas. “A rabbit’s foot bound with magic is not a charm. It’s a cursed item. The bearer has luck when they have the item, but the luck turns bad when the item is lost. And the rabbit’s foot is always lost, one way or another.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Stiles says. “Everybody said the rabbit’s foot was awesome. Like, no downsides.”

“That’s most probably because they died before they could complain,” Deaton tells him. “The luck is immense, and in turn, so is the bad luck. Most bearers die within a few days.”

"Oh come on," Stiles scoffs. "You're exaggerating. Derek can't die from bad luck."

That’s when Stiles hears a crash from the next room. Then a snarl. Then a lot of cursing. He and Deaton look out into the hallway to see Derek trudging towards them. Derek has three scalpels embedded in his shoulder and a German Sheppard growling around where its jaw is firmly attached to Derek's leg. Stiles looks at him for any explanation but he just frowns deeply.

"I sneezed." Derek says as Deaton tries to pull the dog away from his leg.

“The good news is that Deaton knows what’s going on with you,” Stiles tells Derek when Deaton goes to return the dog to its kennel. “The bad news is that I’ve essentially murdered you.”

“That doesn’t sound very optimistic.” Derek says unnecessarily as he plucks the scalpels from his shoulder.

“I can totally do optimistic. Okay. Think positive. Break the curse. Make sure you don’t die. That sounds better. We just need to break the curse. Deaton!” Stiles says as Deaton walks back into the room. “Is there a way to break the curse?”

“You’d have to find the rabbit’s foot and destroy it.” He says. “Burn it in bone ash and cayenne pepper at a cemetery.”

“Awesome. Great. Fantastic. We’ll get right to that.” Stiles says, turning to Derek. “Because you sir, are not dying. Not on my watch you’re not. Scott and I planned to have a karaoke Christmas party and you’re not dying until I hear you sing Total Eclipse of the Heart on your own.”

\---

“I’ve sent everybody a message explaining the situation and telling them to keep a lookout for anything in town that smells like magic.” Stiles says as he sits on the only chair in Derek’s barren loft. “The plan goes like this. Tomorrow, when everybody is less pissed at me for texting them at twelve midnight, they’ll sniff around town to look for the foot. Meanwhile, you’ll be here with constant supervision so that you don’t die.”

“I’m going to be in charge of supervision, since I’m the reason why you got into this whole mess anyways. So sleepover. Yay!” Stiles smiles since Derek looks like the personification of a rain cloud right now. “Thankfully, this place is so bare, that I doubt there’s anything here capable of afflicting bodily harm—”

“Don’t jinx it,” Derek interrupts him.

“Good call—hey where are you going?” Stiles follows Derek as he begins to walk away.

“I’m going to change into something not stained with my blood.” He gestures to himself. 

“Gross. Yeah, you go do that.” Stiles says. “I’ve just gotta make sure you don’t hurt yourself opening a drawer.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. There’s a quirk to his lips. “So you’re saying you want to watch me change.”

“Uh, nope.” Stiles says. “You go change. I’ll be…somewhere else.” _Fuck_ , this is going to be a long night.

When Derek gets back, looking a lot less bloody and a lot more alive and well, Stiles says, “So I think I’ll just go, take the couch.” The couch is the only other piece of furniture in this place suitable for sleeping. Save for the couch, a table, a chair, and a [cartoon wolf wall clock](http://www.zazzle.com/cute_howling_cartoon_wolf_and_numbers_wall_clock-256145243084180804/) Stiles got Derek as a joke, this place is empty. He’s taking Derek to IKEA when this over. This place needs more seats. Also silverware. 

“We can just share,” Derek tells him like that isn’t _freaking insane_. “My bed’s pretty big.” And isn’t that just a completely normal thing to say.

“Nah, I think I’m fine on your weird lumpy couch.”

“ _Stiles_.” 

“Okay, okay! Cool your jets, dude. Bed it is. Cool.” Stiles says and he thinks, yeah cool. Just stay cool. Don’t freak out at the idea of being in the same bed with Derek. Be cool.

“Oh whoa,” Stiles says when he sits on the bed. “Wow, this is really nice.” He flops down onto his back. “Is this memory foam? It feels like memory foam.”

“Yeah, it is.” Derek says as he lies down next to Stiles. “It was the one thing I let myself splurge on after some convincing from Cora.”

“You should work to get some more stuff in here. Make it more cozy.” Stiles turns to face Derek and he ends up kneeing him in the stomach. It’s pretty much like kneeing a brick wall. Derek clutches his abdomen with a groan. “Oh shit.”

“It’s okay.” Derek says.

“No it’s not. I’m going to end up killing you.” Stiles tells him, sitting up. “I can’t be in the same bed with you because you literally might _die_.”

“You aren’t strong enough to actually kill me with your flailing. There’s just some internal stuff that hasn’t healed yet. So stop being an idiot and lie down and go to sleep.”

“I think I’m just going to keep watch until _you_ fall asleep.” Stiles says. “It’s safer that way.”

“You’re going to watch me sleep.” Derek deadpans.

“It sounds so much worse when you say it like that.” Stiles says. “Just go. Sleep! I’ll sleep later.”

“I feel like it’s important to tell you that you reek of guilt right now.”

“Stop that. Switch off your nose.”

“You do know that this isn’t, uh, your fault.” Derek says awkwardly and oh my god Stiles does not need this. Derek is going to strain something trying to be comforting. “You didn’t know it would turn out this way and, to be fair, we’ve faced worse than this.”

“Just because we’ve faced worse, doesn’t mean this isn’t deadly. You heard Deaton, you could _die_.” And it’d be my fault, he doesn’t say. 

“I’m not going to die,” Derek rolls his eyes. “I think I’d be dead a long time ago if it were that easy to kill me. Now lie down and go to sleep.”

“But I’m on watch duty,” Stiles tries.

“If you don’t lie down right now I’m walking out of the loft.”

“You wouldn’t do tha— _Jesus Christ, get back here_ Are you insane? Would you really walk out to your doom?” Stiles says because Derek is a madman. He makes a show of lying down. He even grabs Derek’s blanket and drapes it over himself. “I’m in the bed. See? Happy now?”

“Yep,” Derek says smugly as he returns to the bed and Stiles realizes oh. I’m in a bed with Derek. I’m in Derek’s bed with Derek. He’s lying down next to him. On a bed. From this close, Stiles can see Derek’s wonderful multi-colored eyes. He can feel the slight heat from his body. Is that weird? This is weird. Maybe if he just—

“You’re thinking again.” Derek informs him.

“Well I can’t just switch it off,” Stiles grumbles. “That’d mean I’d be brain dead. And this brain right here? Totally keeping you alive.”

“Go to sleep, Stiles.” Derek says. “I promise I won’t die over the course of the night.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Stiles mutters but Derek doesn't reply. Probably because he thinks it'll make Stiles go sleep.

After Derek has fallen asleep, Stiles spends a fretful ten minutes trying to fall asleep himself. He only succeeds when his brain informs him that he’d be less of a danger to Derek’s life asleep than awake. He needs to figure out when his brain decided to make Derek the basis of most of his actions, but he can do that some other time. 

\---

Stiles proceeds to freak out when he wakes up and Derek isn’t beside him. 

He calms down when he smells the faint scent of coffee and something burning. Which means Derek is making breakfast.

He starts panicking again when he zeroes in on the fact that _something is burning_.

Stiles rushes downstairs to Derek’s poor excuse of a kitchen, and Derek’s not dead. He’s just looking at some burnt pancakes in absolute dismay.

“Takeout.” Stiles says because Derek looks more upset now than he did when he was coughing up blood. “We can order takeout. Breakfast takeout.”

Derek cleans up as Stiles whips out his phone to order when Scott calls.

“Morning, buddy.” Stiles greets. “Please tell me you have some good news right now.”

“We found a faerie sulking around smelling like magic,” Scott says. “When she saw us, she ran. But Malia and I were able to catch her.”

“Uh, are you sure she’s got anything to do with the foot?” Stiles asks him. “Because it would be a bit embarrassing if you just tackled a random innocent to the ground.”

“No, I think she’s really involved. When she saw us she screamed ‘ _You’ll never take the foot from me alive, werebeasts!_ ’” Scott says in a screechy villain voice. “We weren’t even looking for her. We were just having breakfast at the diner downtown. It was really awkward.”

“Oh, are you guys still there? Can you get us pancakes or something?”

“Yeah, sure. Where do we meet you guys?”

“Derek’s loft, definitely. If we move Derek less, it’ll lessen his chances of dying.” Stiles says and he hears a plate shatter behind him. He makes an effort not to look. He doesn’t want to see what shit Derek’s gotten himself into in the short span of time that Stiles wasn’t looking at him.

“Alright. We’ll be there in a bit.” Scott hangs up.

“So we’re getting breakfast and an evil faerie delivered to us.” Stiles says as he braces himself and turns around. It’s not all that bad. Just a broken plate and a few flesh wounds on Derek’s foot. It could be worse.

“Great,” Derek says before he stubs his toe against his stove. Right. Never jinx it.

\---

The faerie doesn’t look particularly…faerie-like. Stiles was expecting something like ethereal beauty or unsettlingly symmetrical features. He needs to train himself out of supernatural stereotypes because this faerie just looks like a social worker. Horn-rimmed glasses and a chic outfit. Times are changing.

“I will not speak to vermin like you,” She hisses dramatically from where she’s tied to a chair. Ugh. Stiles has forgotten how much he hated villain-speak.

“Yeah, we don’t really want to talk to you either.” Stiles tells her solemnly. “But my friends sort of noticed that you smell like a certain item we’re looking for. Magic rabbit’s foot? Ring any bells?”

“Do you really think I would be stupid enough to just hand it over to you? If I gave it to you, you’d just destroy it.” She eyes Derek, who’s standing at the side. “All that potential would be gone.”

“I don’t know if you noticed but, the rabbit’s foot isn’t all that great?” He tells her. “You’d be doing yourself a favor if you just gave it back to us.”

The faerie just throws her head back and _cackles_. As if she wasn’t being cliché enough. “I’m not going to use it you idiot.”

“Then what are you going to do with it?” Scott asks her.

“She’s going to sell it.” Lydia says as she enters the loft. Move over villains. Nobody can match Lydia’s level of glamorous entrances. “People pay a lot for luck like that. Businesses were started based on magic rabbit’s feet. Loan the foot for money. Kill the bearer. Loan it again.”

“Ah, so there is a smart one in this pathetic excuse of a pack.” Evil Faerie Entrepreneur says. Scott’s eyes flash red. “To think that everybody is so scared of the legendary McCall pack when you’re all nothing but a bunch of—”

Then Malia is hopping down from where she was seated on the table, unsheathing her claws, and pressing them against E.F.E.’s neck. They need to work on her patience. 

“Give us the rabbit’s foot.” Malia orders, straightforward. She’s no diplomat but she’s better at threatening interrogation than Stiles is.

“You don’t have the _gall_.” She says.

“Oh, yeah?” Malia flashes her eyes, icy blue. “Try me.”

They stare at each other for a few fraught seconds, and Scott is about to tear them apart before E.F.E. shakily says, “It isn’t with me.”

Scott tears Malia away from her. They wouldn’t get anywhere with a dead faerie and no information.

“Then where is it?” Derek asks.

“Well, I don’t think I’m going to tell you that. Not now that I know that your alpha is too much of a softy to actually let one his betas kill me.” E.F.E. says easily and Stiles wants to throw something at her. A plate maybe. But Derek is running low on those as of this morning.

“Guys, we’ve got trouble.” Allison says when she joins them in the loft, Kira flanking her side. “There are hunters in town.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles covers his face in his hands.

“Who are they? Are they dangerous?” Scott asks.

“They’re nobody big. Just a bunch of rogues. Traveling types.” Allison tells them. “But they’ve sort of banded together since they got news that the pack’s been weakened by a curse.”

“How did they even hear that?” Stiles says mostly to himself as Scott asks, “How many?”

“Ten. Maybe more.”

“I’ve done it.” Stiles says. “I’ve killed us all.”

“Stiles,” Derek says and whoa, when did he get so close to him so fast? “Can I talk to you?”

“What? Yeah. Sure. Of course.” Stiles rambles on as Derek essentially drags him away from all the stuff going on in the middle of the loft. Everybody with supernatural hearing can still tune in on their conversation if they wanted to, but Stiles hopes that everybody’s learned the importance of privacy by this point in their lives. “Are they listening to us?”

“No, they’re all busy.” Derek tells him. “Scott’s on the phone with Isaac, who’s still in town because he thought he smelled more magic. And Allison says that her dad is trying his best to take care of the hunters himself.”

“Okay, cool. So what’s up?”

“Look, I already told you this last night but I don’t think it got through as much as I wanted to since you’re an idiot—” Stiles makes a noise of protest but Derek soldiers on. “—So I’m just going to say it again. You didn’t intend for any of this to happen. You didn’t know about the bad luck.”

“Are you trying to tell me that this isn’t my fault? Because it sort of really is.” Stiles tells him.

“No it isn’t. Okay, well technically it is but, _Stiles_.” Derek is putting way too much effort into being comforting and he isn’t even doing it very well. “Can you just drop the self-deprecating guilt thing? It’s kind of annoying and you didn’t mean it.”

“Doesn’t matter if I didn’t mean it.” Stiles laughs coldly.

“Yes it does.”

“No it doesn’t! Don’t even fight me on this, Derek. It started out as a good thing but then it _fucked up_ and that’s what matters, okay?” Stiles raises his voice. He tries to reign himself in. Calm down. He says, quieter. “I did it. I did something and now you’re getting hurt and paying the consequences. Intention doesn’t matter once somebody gets hurt.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Derek says softly, as if he’s afraid that if speaks too loudly, Stiles might just run away. And he might. Stiles doesn’t want to have this conversation because he knows that Derek isn’t just talking about the foot. 

“Dude, I’m making your life suck right now.” Stiles tells him.

Derek sighs like Stiles is more frustrating than the fact that he’s cursed with magical bad luck. “You don’t make my life suck. Despite the bullshit that’s happened the past twenty four hours, I actually like my life right now. You make it…better.”

Stiles thinks that that’s one of the nicest things he’s ever heard. But then he thinks, wait, back up. Derek can smell magic and he can smell it when Stiles is thinking so that means that Derek can probably smell whatever stupid feelings Stiles has for him. Derek’s shown on many occasions that, more often than not, he feels sorry for Stiles. Stiles’ heart is kind of breaking into a million pieces. Derek is a nice guy. Derek is straining himself, trying to make Stiles feel good about himself. Trying to make it seem like he likes Stiles back. 

It’s also probably one of the nicest things somebody’s ever done for him.

Derek’s looking at him and there’s just this feel to it. Something really intense. He moves in closer, tilting his head, and Stiles finally figures out what’s about the happen. Even if Stiles knows this isn’t real, he’ll let himself pretend because it’s not like he’s going to get another chance at this.

He looks at Derek, moves in closer, then—

Then Stiles’ phone is ringing. 

_I fucking hate this bad luck curse_ , Stiles thinks before he grabs his phone from his pocket and Derek awkwardly shuffles away. After he assures his dad that yes, he is alive, no, he won’t be dying today, yes, please arrest anybody who looks faerie-y or hunter-y, Lydia comes in to fetch them.

“Oh good, you two aren’t having sex.” She says. “The foot is with an accomplice the faerie has in the woods waiting for her return. It also turns out that the hunters are hanging out in the woods too, just in case I hadn’t realized how _bad_ this bad luck really is.”

“Wait, how did you get her to talk?” Stiles asks.

“Truth rune,” She says. “Simple thing Deaton taught me.”

“That’s unfair. Why does Deaton trust you with magic? Why does magic _work_ with you?”

“Because I’m perfect, obviously,” Lydia says. “Now let’s get going before Derek’s lungs unluckily collapse or something.”

\---

Scott takes the Power Team (him, Kira, Isaac, Allison, and Malia) to keep the hunters at bay and to make sure that they don’t do anything stupid. Stiles has the Bad Luck Smarts Team (him, Derek, and Lydia), which is in charge of finding Evil Faerie Entrepreneur #2. Stiles brought his bat. He’s sort of looking forward to bashing somebody in the head if he needs to.

They wander around the forest for a few minutes, relying on Derek’s nose to track her down, only occasionally stopping when Derek trips on a root or when an owl flies into his face. When they find her, (another boring looking person, she looks like a _librarian_ ), she’s leaning against a tree, holding the rabbit’s foot with a set of kitchen tongs. 

“Hey asshole.” Derek calls, obviously tired of the shit time he’s been having these past two days. Then he gets shot in the shoulder and all hell breaks loose.

Scott and the Power Team leap through the trees, hunters at their tail, and Stiles yells, “What part of _keep the hunters away_ did you guys not get!”

“There were a bunch of deer that spooked them to this direction,” Isaac says as he claws a hunter in the leg. 

It’s chaos. There’s guns and snarls and shooting. Stiles sees that E.F.E.#2 has obviously seen that this is not the place to be and she’s running. Stiles runs after her, thinking _fuck it_ before tossing his bat to Lydia, who obviously needs it more going by how she’s viciously clubbing people in the stomach, and he tackles E.F.E.#2 to the ground.

The kitchen tongs clatter to the forest floor and the foot drops too. Stiles tries to reach for it but E.F.E.#2’s hands grip his neck tightly as she rolls on top of him.

“Get away from it, unclean vessel!” She shrieks.

“What does that even _mean_?” Stiles rasps as he gropes around the ground, fingers finding the kitchen tongs. He grabs it and hits her as hard as he can in her face with it. She backs off, blood dripping from her nose, and Stiles is able to wriggle away from under her. He crawls to where the foot is on the ground. “I totally need this to save my friend.”

But E.F.E.#2 doesn’t know how to give up. She grabs his wrist and her eyes begin glowing. Her hand suddenly _burns_ against Stiles’ skin. He yells, dropping the kitchen tongs, and in a burst of fear, adrenaline, and stupidity, Stiles does a thing.

He grabs the rabbit’s foot with nothing but his hand. 

E.F.E.#2 looks at him in utter horror.

“Huh,” He says and he hopes to whatever magic is in this dumb foot that this _works_. He closes his eyes shut and he headbutts E.F.E.#2 as hard as he can. 

She falls to the ground, unconscious. He honestly didn’t think that that would work, holy shit. 

He pulls himself away from her body, standing up, taking extra care not to drop the rabbit’s foot, and he plucks the kitchen tongs from the ground, and blindly tosses it into the fray of fighting. He didn’t even try to aim. Stiles doesn’t see exactly what happens, but all he knows is that the tongs hit somebody in the face and that somebody shoots another guy in the foot and then some dude falls and hits their head on a rock then—

Then Stiles is standing in the middle of many unconscious bodies. The rest of the pack looks at him, all in various states of injury, Derek worse than everybody else, leaning against a tree cradling what looks like a dislocated shoulder, and Allison just whistles lowly.

“Dude,” Scott says. “Nice.”

\---

For some reason, Deaton has a jar of bone ash lying around. He also has cayenne pepper, but that’s normal.

Everybody else decided to go help cleaning up the bodies of the hunters while Stiles and Derek go off to break the curse. In theory, Stiles’ good luck should counteract Derek’s bad luck, so there shouldn’t be any danger of Derek dying anymore, as long as Stiles is by his side.

The drive to the cemetery is quick, green lights all the way. The lock on the cemetery gate crumbles open when Stiles touches it. Meanwhile, Derek gets gum on his shoe and gets increasingly frustrated as he tries and fails to scuff it off on a rock. This is just sad.

Stiles spreads the bone ash, sprinkles the cayenne pepper, douses everything with a healthy helping of lighter fluid, drops the rabbit’s foot in, and sets it aflame.

“Did it work?” Stiles asks. He doesn’t particularly feel any less lucky.

Derek sighs, shoulders sagging in relief. “Yeah, it did.”

“The smell’s gone?”

“It’s burning away,” Derek says. 

“Well, I’m glad that’s over.” Stiles tells him. “Especially with you not being dead.”

“I knew you’d figure it out.”

“That’s way too much trust you have in me,” Stiles says. “Seriously. Don’t trust the guy who gives cursed items as gifts.”

“No,” Derek hums. “I think it’s alright to trust the guy who gave me something because he wanted to make my life nicer.”

“Please, in the past two days alone, you’ve acquired enough bodily harm to fill the yearly quota.”

“Can you stop that?” Derek says, an edge of irritation in his voice.

“Stop what?”

“Acting like everything is your fault and that you’re a bad person.” Derek tells him sternly.

“I don’t do that,” Stiles lies. It’s not even a good lie but he’s had a rough day.

“You have this stupid habit of carrying everything around like it’s your fault, because you think you deserve some weird cosmic punishment for things you _didn’t even do_.” He says.

“Derek—”

“Shut up for two minutes, would you? I know better than anybody else that you shouldn’t carry blame like that around. Especially not you.”

Stiles counts to ten in his head. He breathes. He looks up at the dark, night sky. He’s honestly had enough of this.

“You don’t have to do that, you know?” Stiles tells him. “The whole,” He gestures at Derek vaguely, “Pretending I’m hot shit.” 

“What?” Derek’s looking at him weirdly again. It’s the “It’s December 13,” face. The one where Derek looks at him like he’s the most illogical thing to have graced his vision.

“I know you can smell my feelings or whatever.” Stiles says, trying for nonchalance. This isn’t a big deal, he thinks to himself. It really isn’t. “But you don’t have to pretend that you like me.”

“But I _do_ like you.” Derek says.

“No, that’s not what I meant. You don’t _like_ like me.” Stiles physically winces because did he really say that outloud? “I’m a big boy. I can handle—”

“You are the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.” Derek says. “And I’ve been in love with you for most of this past year.”

What, Stiles thinks. “What?” Stiles says. His brain has checked out right now. Schedule an appointment for later because Derek just _broke his brain_. 

“Did you really not notice?” Derek asks.

“Uh, yeah!” Stiles tells him. “When have you ever projected that you felt that way about me? Ever?”

“Stiles, I hung your stupid frigging [wall clock](http://www.zazzle.com/cute_howling_cartoon_wolf_and_numbers_wall_clock-256145243084180804/) in the loft.” Derek says slowly.

“That doesn’t prove anyth—”

“Do you see anybody else practically sitting on my lap during pack movie nights?” 

“I choose to sit on your lap! So that also doesn’t prove anything.” Stiles says and it occurs to him that he’s arguing with Derek about what constitutes love-y behavior. This is _surreal_. “Anybody could sit on your lap.”

“I can tell you in all honestly that if Scott tried to sit in my lap, I would toss him across the room.” Derek tells him.

“I don’t, this isn’t—Derek!” He is now incapable of intelligible speech. Goodbye sentences. It was nice knowing you.

“Stiles, this morning I tried to make you _breakfast_.” Derek says and by this point it’s as if he’s pleading. “I was making blueberry pancakes despite the fact that I don’t even like blueberries because I know you love them.”

“I do love blueberries.” Stiles agrees.

Derek makes this weird noise, kind of like he wants to punch Stiles in the face, but he says, “Can I just kiss you now?”

“What?” Stiles says and he’s so very thankful that Derek goes for it anyways.

Stiles isn’t thinking. There are no thoughts in his head right now. All he can register is that Derek’s mouth is on his and his hands are cradling Stiles’ face and it’s so, so very gentle and careful. Stiles never thought he’d end up kissing Derek in a cemetery, of all places, and it’s funny, because the first thing Stiles thinks about is the frigging _ambiance_. He lets his brain shut off. He lets Derek take care of everything for a few seconds. He lets himself melt into the warmth of Derek’s body, the feel of his tongue against his lips.

“Are you sure we broke the spell?” Stiles asks when they separate. His voice is breathless and shaky. “Because I don’t think this could’ve happened to me without at least a little bit of luck.”

“Yeah, it’s broken.” Derek says. “I wouldn’t have been able to do that if I still had bad luck.”

“That sounded unnecessarily romantic.”

“Whatever,” Derek leans in to kiss Stiles again. Just a peck on the lips. “Consider it a Christmas gift.”

“It’s December 16,” Stiles tells him.

“Close enough,” Derek says and Stiles thinks, yeah. Close enough. It can’t get any better than this.

**Author's Note:**

> heres the link to that [cartoon wolf wall clock](http://www.zazzle.com/cute_howling_cartoon_wolf_and_numbers_wall_clock-256145243084180804/) again. isnt it adorable?????
> 
> i usually link back to my tumblr here but shhhh it's a secret. i hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> EDIT 12/27/14: fixed all the broken links (sorry about that) and whoops looks like the reveal is out!! im [actualbird](http://www.actualbird.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


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